


Comfortably Numb

by voguethranduil



Series: dirty pretty things [7]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, Alex Summers Needs A Hug, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Vietnam War, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voguethranduil/pseuds/voguethranduil
Summary: “Even in times of trauma, we try to maintain a sense of normality until we no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing. We never become whole again ... we are survivors. If you are here today... you are a survivor. But those of us who have made it through hell and are still standing? We bare a different name: warriors.” -Lori Goodwin





	

**Author's Note:**

> Highly recommend listening to 'Comfortably Numb' and 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd whilst reading! Enjoy!

_ “Even in times of trauma, we try to maintain a sense of normality until we no longer can. That, my friends, is called surviving. Not healing. We never become whole again ... we are survivors. If you are here today... you are a survivor. But those of us who have made it through hell and are still standing? We bare a different name: warriors.” -Lori Goodwin _

The moment he got that letter in the mail, Alex Summers knew the life he was living now would change dramatically.

He felt his world come to a slow, as he stood at his mailbox in his flannel pajama pants, coffee mug in his hand. It was supposed to be a regular, mundane morning filled with idle conversation, and shared kisses with his lover.

But Alex knew, when the official letter came in, what it had meant. A majority of his friends had gotten the same letter, before they were to be shipped off to their death. 

Alex didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to open that godforsaken letter. He didn’t want to open up the letter that would send him to his death.

You knew that when he walked into your small kitchen that morning, that the worst was happening. His face was drained of color and his hands were shaking.

Alex set down his mug of coffee and sat down without saying a word, and he couldn’t even bear to look at you in the eye; for he knew that you were already crying. The sound of the envelope tearing reverberated through your heart, and Alex’s voice cracked as he read out loud the sentence he’d been dreading since the war had started.

_ “Alexander Summers, you are hereby ordered for induction into the Armed Forces of the United States.” _

* * *

 

You try to make the best of your last few weeks with Alex. You try and fill them with memories, laughter, and polaroids for him to take to Saigon. But you’re not dense, you’re not oblivious to the seriousness of the situation.

You notice the empty, spaced-out look in his eye when you’re with him at dinner. You notice the way he doesn’t get much sleep anymore, and you definitely notice the way he makes an effort to touch you whenever he can.

Whether it be sexually or non-sexually, Alex always touched you in those last few weeks. He touched you whenever he could because the taunting voice in the back of his head would constantly remind him, that he may never get to see you again. He may never get to wake up to you. He may never get to see you with a fresh face and steam radiating off your body, and he may never get to see you sleep so peacefully ever again.

Alex didn’t really talk much with his family before his draft came in, but you urged him to visit with them.

“ _ You’re their oldest son,”  _ You told him. “ _ You owe them that much, baby. Please.” _

So you got in your beat up, red Pinto and drove to his childhood home.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a family so engulfed with relief and fear, all at once.

Scott was barely walking by that time, and it nearly tore your heart out to see Alex scoop his baby brother and hug that child like his life depended on it. Alex’s mother and father didn’t really stop crying the whole time, telling Alex that he was strong and so brave.

Alex wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that he was going to fight and protect his country, and that he was doing the right thing. But he knew that once he set foot in Vietnam, there was a ⅓ chance that he was making it back alive.

Alex isn’t a religious person. But as he watched his family sob that day for him, he prayed to God that night, pleading to Him that Alex would be lucky enough to be that one man that made it back home.

* * *

The sounds of lovers and families crying for their loved ones in the airport, are sounds that have burned themselves into your memory.

Alex’s parents had come with you to see Alex off, and like you, they were barely keeping it together. His mother hadn’t slept that entire night, and even Alex’s father wasn’t even attempting to hide the gloss in his eyes.

It was a good five minutes of his mother holding him and crying, before his father had to practically peel him off of Alex. Alex’s jaw was clenched and his brows were furrowed, but it wasn’t out of anger. He knew that if he cried in front of his family, he would run as far away as he could from this airport. So he just kissed his mother’s cheeks and promised he would write, and that he loves her.

His father, Alex had told you, was one of few words, and even fewer emotions. But his father didn’t hesitate one bit to engulf Alex in a suffocating hug, his mustache scratching Alex’s cheek.

_ “I love you, Alexander,” _ His father said, his voice cracking.  _ “I never stopped loving you for a second.” _

When he pulled away from his son, Alex’s frame was noticeably trembling. Alex never had the best relationship with his parents, so this affirmation shook Alex to his core. Alex then brought his father in for another hug, and said,

_ “I’m sorry for everything Dad. I’ll come back. I promise.” _

Alex then turned to you, and his already sunken heart broke at the sight of you. This, was undeniably, the goodbye he was most dreading.

Your arms wound themselves around his torso in a bone-crushing hug, your face burying itself in his shoulder. He smelled of fresh laundry and cologne, and you breathed him in like he was your last breath of air. Alex’s fingers stroked your hair as he bent to press a kiss to the crown of your hair, a comforting action that didn’t really bring you much comfort at all. Your boyfriend was leaving to the most dangerous place on Earth, and there was a high chance that he wasn’t returning.

Your tears soaked onto his camouflage uniform, but he didn’t really care. Neither of you did.

_ “Promise me you’ll write?”  _ You told him, voice distraught.

_ “I promise baby girl, I promise,”  _ He replied, pressing kisses to your face.  _ “I love you, I love you so much.” _

It was then, that the speaker announced that the flight to Vietnam was boarding. You swear that your heart rate sped up, as you looked at Alex in panic.

_ “Here,”  _ You sniffed, as you pulled a folded up paper out of your pocket. You stuffed it into his jacket pocket, closing the button as you smoothed out the fabric.  _ “Read this when you need it. I love you, Alex. I love you so much.” _

Alex lurched down to give you a searing kiss, a mess of tongue and teeth, filled with everything that you hadn’t said. But you both knew, you both knew that it was his promise.

He was going to come back to you.

* * *

 

_ “You got a girl back home?”  _ Another Private asked him, one night. It was their first week in the humid, forest of South Vietnam. His platoon was currently crowded together in a too-small tent, exchanging joints and playing cards, trying to drown out the fact that they were fighting a war.

_ “Yeah, I do.”  _ Alex replied, shoving his hand in his pocket, pulling out the wrinkled photo he kept of you. The other Private gave a low whistle, brows raised.

_ “Damn, I bet she fucks like an animal,”  _ He snickered, taking a drag of a joint.  _ “Might have to introduce me, Summers.” _

Alex could feel his blood boil at the comment, and he  _ really  _ wanted to beat the shit out of the Private. But he remembered how you always calmed him down when he was angry. The chair he was in squeaked in malice as Alex slid his chair back, and stalked off out of the tent.

Alex heard the Private call him  _ ‘a fuckin’ prick,’  _ but Alex just ignored it and returned to his tent. He plopped himself on his cot, and pulled out the letter you had written him before he left.

_ Alex, _

_ Even as I’m writing this, with you asleep next to me, I can’t find the words to say. I can’t imagine my life without you, and I don’t want to. You are the person whom I love, and whom I’ll always love. I want you to know that. _

_ You’re so much braver than you know, and so much stronger than you think. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, and I want you to know that I am constantly thinking about you. I have so much faith in your abilities, and I know that you’re going to make it. You’re going to come home to me, and to everyone who cares about you. _

_ When you’re in the midst of battle and you think there’s nothing left to fight for, I want you to know that I love you. I love you. I love you. Come back to me. Come back to me. _

_ I love you, Alex Summers. Forever and always. _

* * *

 

The days seemed to bleed together, whilst Alex served. There was constant death and gunfire and Alex had grown disturbingly used to it.

He didn’t let himself grow close to anyone. He learned that the hard way, when he watched half of his platoon get blown up in a surprise attack. Alex thought it’d be good to use his powers to help protect the last of his platoon, but it only resulted in punishment and isolation from the rest of the soldiers. Mutants were still mutants, even in the war.

Alex wrote to you as much as he could, but soon, the letters had to stop. His free time was taken up with planning attacks and practice shooting.

Even though the letters had stopped, his love for you didn’t. You knew that.

* * *

 

After Alex had finished his duration of service, it had been a little over two and half years. 

He’s pretty sure that a young man his age shouldn’t ever have to see that much carnage and brutality. But this is 1973, and that’s all but a norm for men his age. 

Alex tries to convince himself that what he did was good, and that he was helping his country. But when he stepped off that plane to be greeted by protesters with long hair and picket signs, he’s pretty sure that his heart broke. He notices that every soldier on his flight tenses up at the protesters, the screams reminding them of the horrors they had just lived through.

His jaw gritted as he walked past the people spitting profanities and insults at him, because these people didn’t know the reality of what he had to survive through. They didn’t know what it was  _ actually  _ like, fighting on the frontlines.

But Alex just kept forward, because he knew that  _ you  _ were waiting for him.

  
With his duffel bag over his shoulder, he tried to ignore the erratic beating of his heart and the shortness of breath, as he navigated his way through the airport. 

And all at once, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you, his parents holding Scott’s chubby hand. He had expected him to feel whole again, because he was  _ home  _ and with  _ you  _ and  _ alive.  _

But that’s what the war does to a person. It strips them of their vulnerability and humanity. So as his lover and family held him and kissed him and welcomed him home, he put on a smile that felt all-too forced and tried to convince himself that he would be okay.

He didn’t just fight in a war, to bring it back home.

* * *

 

You notice the change the second he gets off the plane.

The circles under his eyes were as dark as the night sky, and his sentences were constantly clipped and laconic. You ignored the way he was short with you, and how he seemed to grow farther and farther away from you. It’s an understatement to say, that you were surprised.

You noticed the way he got antsy and nervous in stores, and how he’d flinch at the sudden shriek of a child playing with their friends. You’d notice the way he didn’t sleep much, opting to spend the nights on the couch with the TV on mute, and a glass of vodka in his hand.

The sex was more of a release for him, you suppose. It didn’t have the same feel it did, before he left. It used to be full of soft touches and words of endearment. It was the epitome if the phrase “making love.” Those soft touches turned to gripping and manhandling, Alex waking you with burning bites and kisses to your shoulder. He’d turn you to your stomach with his hand on the back of your neck, taking you from behind.

He’d growl and grunt incoherent words into your ear and he’d finish, pulling out of you, leaving you feeling dazed and numb and even  _ used.  _ And it tore a hole through your heart.

* * *

 

The moment Alex realized he needed to get help, was one fateful night, in which his dreams collided with his memories.

_ He was back in the war, in the middle of a shootout. His Sergeant at the time, thought they had the upperhand; until a sniper caught the Sergeant, right in the center of his brows. Alex felt the splatter of blood on his face and on his clothes, and in that moment, he felt as if the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole. _

You had awoken abruptly at Alex’s thrashing, flipping on the light on your nightstand. He was drenched in his own sweat, and muttering incoherent words.

_ “Alex, baby, baby wake up,”  _ You had pleaded, fear flooding your veins. You cupped his cheeks, speaking louder.  _ “Alex, honey, wake up! It’s just a dream! Alex, wake up!” _

It took a few moments before Alex’s eyes fluttered open, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving up and down erratically. He didn’t hesitate to grip your wrist and pull you onto his lap, his arms immediately encircling your waist, his damp face burying itself in your chest.

The sob that racked through his body shook you to the core, as you stroked his hair with your fingers.

_ “Shh, it’s okay,”  _ You cooed, as he sobbed into your chest.  _ “You’re home, you’re home, you’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m here.” _

_ “I-I’m sorry,”  _ He sobbed. You could feel the pressure of all ten of his fingers on your hips, close to your bones.  _ “I want- I need help. I c-can’t keep pretending to be okay. I can’t do it.”  _

_ “Don’t you dare apologize, Alex,”  _ You replied, pulling his face from your chest, so you could look at him in the eye.  _ “I’ll get you the help you deserve, I promise. I love you so much, baby. I’m going to be with you every step of the way, okay? I promise. I love you, Alex.” _

* * *

 

After a year and a half of therapy, going to group sessions, the circles under Alex’s eyes fade and his smile grows brighter.

The PTSD, he’s learned, probably won’t go away. It’s going to be something he’s going to have to live with. He can’t erase memories and experiences, but he can prevent them from affecting the way he lives his life.

He prevents them with his family, making weekly trips with you to visit them. Scott looks up to his older brother, and his parents kiss his cheeks every time they see him. He prevents them by holding your hand, and kissing your knuckles when you’re watching shitty reruns on TV. He prevents them by taking up the guitar, and learning his favorite songs. He prevents them by working out in the gym, taking it out on a punching bag, instead of at the bar.

And as Alex Summers watches you walk down the aisle dressed in white, he thanks God, that he was that 1 man that came back home. That came back to  _ you. _


End file.
